What Happens in Bucharest
by Chinese Bakery
Summary: Fitz and Simmons make the best of that fancy hotel room. The Singularity, after it fades to black.
1. Chapter 1

Kissing Jemma is easy. It's only been 24 hours since it became an integral part of their interaction repertoire, but they've taken it it stride, learning each other's lips with the same methodical comprehensiveness they would apply to anything else.

Kissing Jemma when they're lying on top of each other in a strange bed halfway across the world, with no imminent threat and nobody looking to disrupt the natural course of events, is a different matter _entirely_.

Her body is soft and pliant, her hands are finally warming up against the burning skin of his torso underneath his open shirt, and the room is filled with her soft moans and sighs. Every time their mouths part, it's only to recapture each other's the next moment with renewed neediness.

As much as he's dreamt of this, he'd long renounced the hope for it, realistically, and although his odds have steadily improved over the course of the past day, the moment is still coated with a sense of surrealness that doesn't really assuage the thrill of it.

Jemma pulls back, straddling his thighs, and reaches for the hook of his pants in an impatient gesture. His mouth dries as their eyes meet and her smile growing a little toothier. She's approaching uncharted territory and he should tell her so, probably. Just as a fair warning. She either knows or suspects it anyway. Still, he's not a little boy genius anymore and hasn't been for a long, long time. At his age, the admission feels awkward and a little humiliating –at least in his head, like being the last one to be picked for the team– but it's no secret he never quite managed to sustain more than a passing interest in any woman that wasn't her.

"Jemma–" His voice comes out in an embarrassing groan, and her face registers both amusement and delight as her hands settle over his bare stomach.

"Yes, Fitz?" When her reply comes, it sounds throaty and breathless, a pornographic fantasy coming to life, and if the look in her eyes wasn't matching her tone perfectly, he would suspect she was riling him up.

He closes his eyes briefly, savoring it– how many times has he imagined her saying his name _this way_ over the years?– before he manages to focus again.

"I feel there is key information you might be mis–"

He gasps loudly when her brightly painted nails softly scratch down the fine line of hair that trails down from his navel to the open fly of his dress pants, as reason and logic begin to fail him completely. Whatever he meant to say feels irrelevant now. She knows everything significant there is to know about him, doesn't she?

"You were saying?" she asks with a slightly smug grin.

Satisfied with his dumbfoundedness, Jemma raises a defiant eyebrow before reaching behind her neck to unzip her silky top. She shakes it off her shoulders and swiftly discards it, planting her expectant gaze in his own once more.

Fitz knows her well enough to discern the bravado and nervousness that flash on her face and he wonders briefly if he should say something –crack a joke, maybe, anything to relieve the tension that's seized her– but all he can do is stare at the expanse of creamy freckled skin she's just bared for him. She's wearing something made of sheer mesh and white lace that does a very poor job at concealing the curve of her breasts and the deeper shade of pink at the tips.

This is it, this is what he's been dreaming of forever, she's here and she's ready and she wants _him_. It doesn't feel quite surreal anymore now, but perhaps that's only because he's tumbled past rational thinking.

He rolls them over until he's on top again and pecks down her slender neck until he reaches the strap of her bra. From there, he starts trailing kisses down the thin material, only pausing when his mouth meets puckered skin and he can ear her breathing catch. When he starts sucking on her nipple, her whole body tenses for a beat before she pushes him away, maneuvering them until she's straddling him once more.

She reaches back again and the next moment, a flash of white glides down her arms and then Fitz's hands are covering her breasts, feeling their softness, tracing the freckles, softly pinching a nipple until Jemma's back arcs.

"I'm not gonna break," she informs him, her expression daring.

"I hope not," he widens his eyes in mock concern, "you're the only one who understands your demented filing system."

Before she can swat him, he does it again, massaging the sensitive bud of flesh between his fingers, revelling in her gasps of pleasure, the most erotic sound he's ever heard in his life.

When he sits up and catches her other breast in his mouth, she lets out a cry of pleasure that startles him, and he's about to ask if she's okay when she bends down for another languid kiss.

This, he thinks, is something he would gladly do for hours on end, if not for the increasingly uncomfortable erection straining between them. Perhaps sensing his desperation, Jemma mumbles something about his state of _overdress_ , and watches with a gleam of interest as he shrugs off his shirt. She gets up just long enough to peel down her pants before reaching for his.

If he's ever gonna make a joke about the final frontier, now is the time. He rakes his brain in search of a coherent thought, but his inquiry comes to a halt when Jemma's hand slides inside his underwear.

"I don't think–ah–" he gasps as her fingers curl around his length, pressing lightly. "Maybe we should– take care of you first?"

"Oh, don't worry," she grins, pulling down the last remnant of his clothing until he springs free. "I think this might work better for the two of us, actually."

"No, really, you don't have to– _oh_."

His words of protest are wasted the moment her tongue touches him. For a while, his entire vocabulary reduces to a single word _–Jemma–_ as his academy mate, old chem lab partner, former flatmate, current best friend _and_ girlfriend, proceeds to completely shatter his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz's chest is rising and falling rapidly when she snuggles in the crook of his shoulder. He's flushed to the tip of his ears but at least some of the tension he was vibrating with before has gone. Jemma rubs her face a little self-consciously –she must be quite a sight as well, sprawled on the bedspread in her panties with her hair wild and the remnant of her makeup probably smudged over her face. But when Fitz tips his head to the side to meet her gaze, his eyes are filled with such reverence she can't bring herself to care.

Her own arousal has leveled a bit while she was focusing solely on his pleasure and for now, she's happy to leisurely enjoy this new plane of intimacy between them. It's been on her mind constantly, this moment, the anticipation building up and filling her with nervous energy, urging her to drop increasingly brazen hints in their conversations.

And, sure, the excitement is tempered with a touch of apprehension –they are, after all, dancing at the edge of a cliff and bracing to fall into the unknown. But the moment feels right, and she already trusts him with her life anyway.

When Jemma feels the fingers of his bad hand trembling against her skin, it comes with a pang to her gut, reminding everything they've had to endure before they could find their way to each other. Before he can move away, she grabs his hand and drops a few kisses on the inside of his wrist.

His mouth is silently working, but she can't tell by his expression alone if whatever he's trying to say is good or bad.

"Fitz? Is everything okay?" she asks, nuzzling his stubbled cheek.

"Yeah, yeah, it's just… Everything's so– you are–"

He sighs softly and glares at the ceiling, letting the sentence hang in the air, but whatever sentiment he means to share is clearly not disapproval.

"So are you," she smiles, and had she not raised her head at that very moment, she would have missed his deepening frown.

"You know I'm not… very experienced, right? I just– I don't want to mess this up."

"Fitz. You couldn't," she insists, tightening her hold on his hand.

"Oh, I think I could," he counters, a touch of humor gracing his voice. " _That's_ much closer from my area of expertise."

"I don't know," she muses, matching his tone, "you tend to give yourself too much credit in that department, if you ask me."

His fingers are running down her ribs, considerately avoiding her most ticklish spots and skimming down the length of her back until they reach the line of her panties.

"Now, who's overdressed?"

"Don't you want to wait out until your refractory period subsides?"

Fitz lets out a strangled sound that's half-chuckle, half-snort.

"Is this your idea of dirty talk?" he asks, backtracking fast when he notices the instant narrowing of her eyes. "No, no I like it! Please proceed, Dr. Simmons. What do you want to know about my–" he grits his teeth, struggling for seriousness, "erectile function?"

"Well, in that case," she says, repressing a grin, "would you say your penile sensory threshold has sufficiently decreased to attempt further stimulation?"

This time, there's no stopping his snickering and within seconds, they're laughing in each other arms, her chin nestling into the hollow of his neck until they manage to regain some gravity.

"Actually," Fitz says once he's recovered, raising his eyebrows, "I think I want to stimulate _you_ , if that's alright."

"Yes," Jemma concurs, biting her lip, "I would say so."

There's no telling him twice. Fitz moves until she's the one lying flat on her back and he's hovering above her, peppering kisses down her clavicle until he's lavishing her breasts with his mouth and fingers.

When he trails down her stomach and his index fingers hook in the sides of her panties, trailing the garment down until she's lying naked beneath him, her breath catches in her chest. He doesn't say anything –she doesn't expect him to, doesn't want him to assume the role of a smooth seductor when he's practically shaking with nerves– but the look her shoots her is praise enough to keep her ego healthy for weeks to come.

A wordless question flashes on his face as he brushes the triangle of hair between her legs and she nods, opening her thighs wide both to give him access and signify her eager assent.

The colors are rising higher on his cheeks as his fingers slide further down her body. A look of intent concentration appears on his face and Jemma can't help but grin, noting to herself that _this_ has to be the expression she's most familiar with, and it's delightful to encounter it in an entirely new context.

She's smiled so much over the past 24 hours it's a wonder her face isn't sore.

Fitz's eyes are darting from her face to her sex as his nimble fingers repeat every motion that seems to elicit a positive reaction from her, introducing variants in pressure and rhythm –he's studying her, cataloguing her reactions with the extreme focus he usually saves for his most challenging projects.

"Jemma. Can I–" he begins, and the breathless and frantic tone of his voice sends another spark of heat down her body. "I want–"

"Yes. _Yes_ ," she answers, nodding wildly, and from the moment his tongue makes contact, using all that knowledge he's just been amassing, her arousal keeps on soaring and within minutes she's panting, desperate for release.

"Fitz. Come here," she urges hoarsely.

"I'm not done," he says cheekily, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, before his heads drops back down between her legs.

"Leopold Fitz!" she berates him. "If you don't come back right this instant, I swear–"

"Okay, okay," he concedes with a smirk, scooting back up and holding up two placating palms.

She thinks of telling him the time has come for them to cross the point of no return but resolves to hold her tongue. They can joke about it later. They've waited too long for this, risked too much –it's simply too important.

"Kiss me," she says instead, and he only hesitates a fraction of second before he bends his head to meet her. She can feel him against her hip, hot and pulsing, and she wonders if he realizes her heart is pounding just as hard as his is right now.

"Okay. Okay, uh, I–" Fitz looks around, his eyes anxiously searching for the duffle bag he dropped to the floor when he joined her earlier.

"Bedside table. On the right," she says impatiently, and he glances at her with gratitude and amusement before he lunges for the drawer, tearing the wrapper and sliding the condom on with impressive efficiency.

 _Someone's in a hurry_ , she almost says, but her heart clenches when she remembers that _yes_ , actually, they are. As much as she wishes they could hole up together for a week and take all the time in the world to explore the event's horizon, now's not the time for that.

If there ever was a question about her readiness, the slickness he meets when he aligns his body with hers has to be proof enough. Fitz rests his forehead against hers as he pushes inside her, his gasp not quite covering hers.

Jemma shuts her eyes to better meet the storm of sensations –her body stretching to accommodate him, the heat of him blanketing her, his shaky breath on her face, all her nerve endings striving for completion. She wraps her legs around his waist and sets out to follow his rhythm. It's a little awkward, not really in sync, but she's so close already this suits her fine –she wants to ride this for as long as she can.

When Fitz shifts to better support his weight, her pleased sighs turn into moans –the longer strokes and different angle are doing wonders for her and she's rushing steadily closer to the edge.

Their eyes catch and she's transfixed by the look on his face, like he's about to break, like he's ready to jump through a hole in the universe again, only this time she's right there with him and they can trade sloppy kisses and mutter unintelligible endearments all the way down.

She says his name and it sounds like a sob, desperate and too full of _everything_ , just before her body starts tightening and shuddering. She's aware of the groans escaping his mouth and the sudden stiffening of his body as she spasms around him, but only peripherally.

When he collapses on top of her, her arm wraps tighter around his shoulders and she just hangs on to him until she can breathe again.

* * *

"I take it Mack had a lot of equipment to unload in the Quinjet," Fitz says as casually as he can manage, but there's no hiding the touch of regret in his voice.

They finally made it under the covers –he can tell already that saving Jemma from hypothermia is about to become a preeminent concern in his day-to-day life– and they've just stolen another half hour of cuddling and kissing and smiling at each other like idiots in love. It's too good to last and they both know it, but they're still a little high on endorphins and, as it turns out, not very good at denying each other a favor.

"We should surely thank him for being so– _considerate_ ," Jemma advises, beaming.

Before the previous night in his room, he hadn't seen her smile that wide in _years_ , and he has yet to get used to it again. Each occurrence sends shards of pain and pleasure through his heart; he's not quite sure if he should berate himself for failing her before, or congratulate himself for making her grin now.

"Uh, I'll do it, okay?" Fitz says prudently. The last thing he wants to do right now is to offend her, but if the past day has taught him anything, it's that Jemma Simmons is not as shy as he previously assumed regarding such matters, and he won't risk her discussing his penile _anything_ with Mack.

"We should probably get dressed," he sighs regretfully, bending his head to kiss a large freckle that's ideally situated on top of her right breast. How is he going to concentrate on anything ever again with her next to him in the lab is a question for another day.

"Probably," she acknowledges just as forlornly. She touches her lips to his and he responds immediately, intending to indulge in one last kiss before they let reality crashes back around them, but then her tongue brushes between his lips and the next thing he knows, they're wrapped up in each other again, kissing deeply and passionately.

"Five more minutes?" she suggests breathily, the corners or her mouth rising higher and higher still.

"Five minutes," he nods, knotting his fingers into her hand gently before he catches her mouth with his once more. "Sounds good."


	3. Chapter 3

Jemma dozes off only minutes after they depart, her chin tilted up and the back of her head pressing into the headrest. In the seat next to hers, Fitz is keenly aware of the rise and fall of her chest, and her quiet snoring. He can't help but wonder if this is a new development or if he's been _that_ conscious of her all along, and is just allowing himself to sense it now.

It's 2:00 AM and it's been an eventful day –the most eventful of days– but he's too amped up to sleep, his head spinning with flashes of what happened merely an hour ago. It's probably wrong to be so damn happy when Daisy's been enslaved by an evil force, and they very well might be on the edge of a catastrophe of unprecedented magnitude, but there's no helping it, not when he remembers _everything_ so vividly he can almost feel it.

He's fairly confident that it isn't a fluke, either. She has to know that this is _it_ for him –all or nothing, no way back, no one else– and she wouldn't toy with him if she didn't feel the same way, would she? They still haven't talked, not really, and he has a feeling talking might be the furthest thing from their minds the next time they manage to steal a few moments alone.

* * *

They don't get a chance to catch up once they touch base; Coulson and May want to debrief them immediately, and assess the threat Radcliffe's capture might pose in the waging war against Hive and his growing army. Once they're done, Coulson commands Fitz to have his neck checked for injuries from Daisy's Vadar choke, and no amount of protestation achieves to change his mind.

The conversation with Lincoln is rendered somewhat awkward by the fact that the poor guy just had his heart broken to pieces _and_ lost his girlfriend to an evil spirit, while Fitz and the love of his life finally found their way to each other. There isn't much Fitz can tell him about Daisy's state of mind other than assure him she could have easily killed him but _didn't_. There's still hope, albeit not very much.

By the time Fitz is finally allowed to retire in his quarters, dawn has risen and he still hasn't slept a wink. His shirt is crumpled, his tie long gone, and exhaustion is catching up with him.

He brushes his teeth, kicks off his shoes and fully intends to collapse face down on the mattress in his wrinkled clothes and sleep for as long as he can get away with, when he notices an unforeseen complication.

Jemma's in his bed.

Not just in it, but from what he can tell from the bumps of the cover, she's sprawled across it diagonally, leaving him no chance to slip in without waking her. Fitz sits on the edge of a mattress and nudges her arm, hoping she might roll over without waking entirely. Instead, she opens her eyes and, a moment later, looks straight to him.

"Somebody's been sleeping in my bed," he says softly, a smile creeping in his voice.

"Well, fell free to join in, Papa Bear," she replies in a exaggeratedly flirtatious voice that's quite impressive, given she just woke up.

For a moment, he's stricken speechless, and then all he can do is laugh out loud and bask in awe of her sleepy mirth.

As for joining her, he isn't about to put up a fight about that, and instead sets about to undress in front of her for the second time in a matter of hours.

"After tonight, I just wanted a chance to wake up next to you," she says when he settles down beside her, and there's not a trace left of humor in her voice. "I hope you don't mind?"

"I'll live," he says with his heart in his throat.

She scoots over and shifts until her back is resting against him, and his arm can wrap tightly around her waist. She's warm with sleep, all solid curves against him.

This thing between them, it better work out, because there's no coming back from it for him.

"So I take it Bucharest wasn't a one time thing, then," he says, because it's easier than asking straight up exactly how serious she is about this, about them, and if he can expect to find her in his bed every night from this day on.

"Are you disappointed?" Jemma quips. "Were you hoping for a no-strings-attached hookup?"

"You got me," he breathes into her hair. "Everything that's happened in the past decade was just part of a conniving long con to have my way with you and never call you again."

"So Machiavellian," she exclaims, delighted. "I'm astounded."

"You better be," he mutters, tightening his hold on her frame.

"You _always_ astound me, Fitz," she murmurs, turning to catch his mouth, but his kisses are sloppy and his head swims with weariness.

"You should get some rest," she says, taking pity on him. "We can play Goldilocks and Papa Bear later."

"You're a _weirdo_. I should have known," he says with great dismay and a theatrical shake of his head, before he falls asleep, the sound of her laughter filling his ears.


End file.
